Flash Fiction Month 2016, Day 24
“I can’t believe you’re eating poutine for breakfast,” said Mike, staring at Joe over his huge stack of pancakes.
“I can’t believe you’re not!” said Joe, setting the mountainous pile of food down on the tree stump they’d taken to using as a breakfast table. “Fries, cheese curds, gravy…it’s got everything a growing lumberjack needs!”
“Yeah. Because nobody in the history of the world has ever associated pancakes with lumberjacks.”
Suddenly, as if enraged by sarcasm, a moose charged out of the trees and straight through the lumberjacks’ breakfast.
“Well that was something, eh?” said Joe. Then he noticed the state of his breakfast. “Aww. That moose got maple syrup all over my poutine. Could you lend me a toonie for another?”
Mike was about to say “no,” and follow it up with, “but is it seriously just two dollars, because that’s either really good or really suspicious,” but he was drowned out by the sudden appearance of a helicopter descending into the clearing.
A large group of men in suits appeared carrying a very large cheque.
“Sir,” shouted their leader, over the noise of the helicopter blades. “I represent the International Internationality Awards Committee, and I’m here to present the prize for the most Canadian utterance in history!”
The men in suits began to set up cameras, microphones, and a small satellite dish.
“If you could just say a few words to…”
There was a commotion at the helicopter. One of the besuited men put a finger to his earpiece, then ran over to his leader, whispering in his ear.
“Oh?” said the leader, listening with great interest. “Oh!” a smile spread across his face. “Really?”
He turned back to Joe.
“I do beg your pardon, but I’m told that a man with a moustache has just performed a hand gesture so forceful as to knock a pizza from the top of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, capsising a Venetian gondola upon impact!”
Without another word, the whole crowd vanished back inside the helicopter, and the helicopter back into the sky.
Silence reigned for a moment.
Then: “Hang on,” said Mike. “How could you possibly launch a pizza all the way from Pisa to Venice?”
Joe stared at the giant cheque in his hands. “I don’t know, and I don’t care: I’m taking this thing to the bank!”
“Tim Hortons is closer,” joked Mike. “You may as well just cut out the middleman and spend it all on Timbits!”
The helicopter descended once more.